Avengers
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Stories set in the Avengers/Shield universe. Humor: "A Hero's Revenge" "Nick's Fury" Drama: 3. "Flawed Heroes": Tony helps a fellow Avenger cope with failure. 4. "Proof": Set during IM2; Nick Fury helps Stark and in turn reveals something about himself.
1. A Hero's Revenge

A hero's revenge

I don't know much of Avengers, but I love Tony Stark and Spiderman, so...

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><p>Nick Fury picked a newspaper from the pile he'd brought into the room at the meeting's start. He glanced at it, then he looked back at the twelve people sitting at the conference table. They were heroes, all of them. Some wore masks, some didn't, but there was one thing that united them as one: they were powerful enough to cause mayhem and destruction, if they so desired…<p>

But only if _he, _the head of SHIELD, allowed it.

Damn. It felt good to be boss.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "The alien invasion was handled in a most efficient manner." He lifted the paper. "The president says so," he said, letting them see the words in print. "Headlines from all over the world say so," he added, and he picked another paper and then a third, to illustrate his point. "But I..._ I_ don't think so."

The papers fell to the floor.

Fury leant on the conference table.

"No, ladies and gentlemen. 'Efficient' is not enough in this organization; it can't be. For the world to survive, we have got to do better." He leant forward. "The question is... Can we?"

He looked around. He wasn't expecting a reply; his challenges were meant to be taken in and held in the heroes' minds and souls. All he wanted was to convey the urgency; the passion behind his own commitment to the job. No, he didn't expect a reply –

But he got one.

A spitball flew by, seemingly out of nowhere, and BAM! hit him on the cheek.

Now, Nick Fury met challenges every day; he could handle anything, from deep-sea monsters to earth-conquering alien creatures. But this was so unexpected, that for a couple of seconds, all he could do was watch as the little missile bounced across the table.

However, when it finally came, his reaction was swift. He grabbed the offensive ball and immediately looked around for a culprit.

He didn't have to look far: Tony Stark was sitting only a few feet away. The only hero who chose not to wear his outfit in SHIELD's hearquarters, Stark had been clearly distracted all evening, glancing into his phone instead of paying attention to the meeting.

More damning in this case, he had a rubber band in his hand.

"Mr. Stark!"

Tony Stark deftly pushed his Nicorette gum into a corner of his mouth before looking up.

"Yep?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"This?" Tony repeated. He had no idea what Fury was talking about but he wasn't about to admit it. "You mean, right now?"

Fury held up a little ball between his thumb and his forefinger.

"I mean this, Mr. Stark."

"That's a spitball, isn't it?"

Fury forced himself to answer civilly. "I know it's a spitball, Mr. Stark. That's not what I asked you."

"Ok... " Tony shifted in his seat. Damn, suddenly, it was like being back in Junior high, where he was constantly singled out by the teachers. He even threw a surreptitious glance around, in case someone might want to whisper him the correct answer, like his classmates used to do, back in the day.

Unfortunately, the guys sitting next to him - Captain America and Spiderman - had proved to be pretty much like the rest, here: a bunch of straight-laced prudes who'd never dare to defy Nick Fury. Shit, people here were so prim and proper you couldn't even say 'shit' or 'fuck' anymore without one of them pointing out that swearing was wrong.

Morosely, Tony looked back at Fury.

"Ok, look; I don't know what you're talking about, but -"

"You don't?" Fury said. "Well, I'm sure you can at least tell us what you're doing with that rubber band," and he waved at Tony's hand.

Tony looked down. Sure enough, there was a rubber band wrapped around his fingers.

"What, this? This is no mere rubber band; this is the first in my new line of Businessmen Therapeutic Devices." He tugged at it. "See? It's meant to be used whenever you're -" _bored out of your freaking mind,_ "-er, focused on important issues."

"So, what you're you saying is, you didn't use it as a slingshot."

"What?" Tony sat up, suddenly putting two-and-two together. "You saw a spitball lying around and assumed that _I...?_ That's not -" He was too indignant to finish. "I'd never -"

"Never, Mr. Stark? May I remind you that over the past months every person in this room has been, at one point or another, the butt of a practical joke perpetrated by you?"

Tony looked around. Every face in the room was turned in his direction this time.

Damn. It _was _like Junior high.

"Oh, come on, we're in constant danger; someone's got to bring a little humor to the place!" Unfortunately, no one seemed to agree with him. "Ok, look; yes, I've played a couple of jokes. But I've always owned up to them!"

"Only because you're too vain not to take the credit," Fury retorted.

"Whatever," Tony replied morosely. He'd had it with Fury's continuing study of his character. "The point is, I'd never stoop to that level." He waved at Fury. "Spitballs aren't my thing."

Fury took a deep breath.

"Mr. Stark, I must ask you to leave the room."

"What?"

"Please, wait outside."

"You're kidding me!" Tony glanced around. Was it too much to hope for one of those miserable kids to protest of at least offer some words of support? After all, he'd saved their asses more times than they'd saved his!

No one spoke.

"Oh, ok. Fine." He rose. "I'll be outside. Better yet," he added snidely, "I'll go to the Principal's office and wait there."

Fury looked at the other superheroes.

"Well," he said, "Now that we've cleared this matter, I believe we can go on with our meeting." Satisfied, he pulled his chair and sat down –

And suddenly, a fart, loud as an explosion, escaped from under him.

"MR. STARK!"

Tony turned. Purple-faced and eye-popping, Nick Fury had never looked more, er, furious.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said as if he'd remembered just then. "_That'_s one of mine. The Microscopic Whoopie Cushion, from Stark Industries new line of practical jokes." He opened the door. "Oh, and by the way…" He glanced around. "There might be a special discount for my masked buddies here."

Epilogue

Tony was sitting at an open window, legs dangling over the ledge. Having checked on his messages, he finally had time for what passed for pleasure in this place: smoking.

He lit up a cigar and drew a long puff from it. _There._ Things were ok in the world again.

A door opened somewhere in the building. A number of sounds –hurried steps, flowing capes, flapping wings –told him that the meeting was over, and heroes were heading home.

Tony didn't hear any steps coming in his direction, but wasn't surprised when someone nearby cleared his throat. He knew Nick Fury would find him sooner or later.

Only it wasn't Fury.

It was Spiderman.

"So," Tony said. "Meeting's adjourned?"

"Yes."

Tony stared at Spidey for a moment.

"You know, I can never tell where exactly it is that you're looking at. Couldn't you open a couple of slits on your mask so the rest of us mortals…? No. I guess not."

Spidey took a step closer.

"I've got a confession to make, Mr. Stark."

"Talk to Thor. He's the one with the god connection."

"I was the one who threw that spitball."

Tony accidentally inhaled. He started choking.

"You?" _cough, cough, cough_. "_You _threw that spitball? I thought maybe Hawkeye -"

Spiderman shook his head.

"It was me. It landed right where I wanted it, too. Mr. Fury's face."

"And he never saw it coming?"

Spidey made a little gesture with his hand. "It's all in the wrist," he said modestly.

"I see." Tony was noncommittal. Sure, what Spiderman had done was pretty impressive, but damn if he was going to say so. "And you didn't admit you did it because…?"

"Well… I could say I didn't because secrecy's the whole point of a practical joke..."

"Is it?"

"But that's not the reason I kept mum, Mr. Stark." He leant on the wall. "You put rubber flies in my food a week ago, remember?"

Tony smiled at the memory. "Oh, yeah. I thought it was appropriate, what with you being a spider."

"I swore I'd get back at you."

Tony Stared at him, then nodded. "Fair enough." Hey, even he could admit defeat now and then.

He'd assumed the conversation was over, but when Spiderman didn't move, he looked up again. And did a double take. It may have been a trick of the light, but he could swear Spiderman was smiling under the mask.

"But that's not why I threw that spitball."

"So, why did you?"

"I was bored! I thought someone should liven up things a little."

Tony smiled. Maybe there was hope for these kids yet.

* * *

><p>The end.<p> 


	2. Nick's Fury

Nick's Fury

The title might be a little misleading as the story didn't end up the way I originally envisioned it, (with NF really unleashing his, er, name), but I liked it, so I kept it.

I've only read a couple of Avengers comics, so I'm not really familiar with the canon. This story's closest to the Iron Man movies, anyway.

* * *

><p>…It surged out of nothing, floating in space, utterly helpless. Dumb, numb, and blind; a particle of dust, aimless and inconsequential -<p>

No! Not inconsequential –and not a particle of dust! It was… _He _was someone –he just couldn't remember who. He was in the dark –literally- but he wasn't floating; he was standing on solid ground. He knew that as much.

And suddenly, a voice cut into the void.

"…Returning in ten… Nine…"

A vague memory stirred in the back of his mind.

"…Eight…"

He remembered then. He was Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. As to where he was –

"… Six…Five…"

By the time 'Three' came on, he automatically braced himself. He'd been through this before.

"… Two… One. Open the gate!"

Suddenly, light flooded the chamber, and Nick Fury blinked till he adjusted to the sudden glare. He resisted the impulse to shade his eyes, just like he resisted the need to puke his guts out. It wouldn't do to show any weakness, especially with every eye upon him.

The sound of footsteps gave him the impulse to move. The lab's minions were coming, but he managed to step out of the chamber before they got to him.

At least Doctor Bergen didn't fuss over him like he used to. He merely looked up from his control panel.

"Mr. Fury. You look extremely well for someone who's just traveled seventy-two years back in time."

"I feel fine, Doctor," Fury said, and he pointedly made a beeline for the door.

That was more than Doctor Bergen could tolerate.

He rushed after Fury. "Mr. Fury! You are supposed to stay under observation for six hours!"

"I am aware of the procedure, Doctor, I wrote it, myself."

"Most of those who come back from 1942 experienced psychological disturbances that -UMMF!" Bergen couldn't finish his speech; Fury had suddenly stopped, causing the doctor to smash his face into the taller man's back.

Fury turned and looked down at him.

"I am not like most people, Doctor."

Doctor Bergen straightened his glasses with as much dignity as he could muster, then gave Fury one look of his own.

"Nevertheless," he said. "I insist you remain here for observation. As Chief of Medical Resources, my authority supersedes yours –_your_ words, not mine."

Fury hesitated. He knew the doctor was right, but he didn't have the time for this.

He pulled the doctor aside so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Look, Doc; here's the situation; I was gone for two whole days. I left Tony Stark in charge of SHIELD, and -"

"Mr. Stark?" Bergen said, with a wince. "I see." He hesitated for a second, then nodded at Fury. "You may go, then."

Fury frowned at the doctor's sudden capitulation.

"What do you mean I may go?" He looked at him suspiciously. "Did something happen up there that I should know about?"

Bergen shrugged.

"I don't know, Mr. Fury." He smiled wearily. "There's a reason I stay in my lab: The present holds no interest to me."

* * *

><p>Frowning, Fury stepped into the elevator that would take him from the bowels of the earth to SHIELD's executive floor. It wasn't like the Doctor to be this evasive; his reaction worried him. Had anything bad happened during his absence?<p>

If it did, then it would be Fury's fault.

"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew he'd fuck up."

To be fair, Fury hadn't been too keen on leaving everything in Stark's hands. The guy was a genius and he knew the security systems as well as Fury –better, since he had designed himself- and he was the oldest Avenger, ('not the oldest,' Stark had said peevishly; 'just the most capable'), but he also had a drinking problem and, worst of all, he was unpredictable, ('not unpredictable; spontaneous!).

In short, the guy could be dangerous.

Unfortunately, there was no one else he could give the assignment on such short notice. His assistant, Maria Hill still had a long way to go before she could be trusted, and Dugan –well, Dugan had his own duties. And the other Avengers, while enthusiastic and bold, were too young and one-dimensional to gauge certain situations. He certainly couldn't imagine Thor or Hawkeye dealing with personnel problems. Stark certainly had the experience, but Fury didn't seriously consider him until Dugan spoke to him.

"Let the little bastard get a taste of your job," Dugan had said spitefully. "Let him know what we've got to deal with on a daily basis. A couple of days as head of SHIELD will instill some respect in that impudent pain-in-the ass."

Unsurprisingly, Stark wasn't intimidated by the assignment.

"Sure, I'll do it," he'd said cockily. He'd looked appraisingly at Fury's office. "I like it here. It's Spartan. No thingies moving on the desk, no weird paintings…" He paused in front of a wall. "I'm not crazy about the urine-yellow," he said thoughtfully. "I can bring a couple of maps, though. Or maybe that Jackson Pollock I got back from the Scouts -" At that point he wasn't even talking to Fury anymore; he was talking to himself, making plans and generally acting like he was taking over Fury's office on a permanent basis. By the time he looked back, he seemed surprised to see Fury still sitting behind the desk.

"I'll do it," he said again.

"Good. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah. Do I get your parking spot?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Cool." He looked at Fury's clothes. "Do I get a leather jacket too?"

"It can be arranged."

"What about the eye-patch? Can I have one too?"

Fury glared. "No, Mr. Stark."

"No?" Stark looked disappointed. "I sort of expected it to come with the job. That, and the bad-ass attitude." He smiled.

Fury merely stared back. There was something appealing about Tony Stark; something that made even the most hardened members of SHIELD forgive his transgressions. Even Dugan had a soft spot for Stark, despite his protestations to the contrary. Hell, even Maria Hill's hard exterior crumbled when this guy was around.

But Nick Fury was immune. He glared at Stark, effectively unsettling the man.

Stark raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Ok, ok; no eye-patch -I get it." He eyed Fury critically; "I guess the eye-patch only looks good if you shave your head, anyway. And that's more than I'm willing to do for a job." He looked appraisingly at Fury. "So, two full days away. Where are you going? Madripoor? Paris? Rio?" He smirked, "Thailand? I can give you a couple of names, if you're interested in -"

"I'm traveling back in time to Nazy Germany, Mr. Stark."

Tony did a double take.

"Nazy…? Boy, you've got a weird notion of what a vacation is all about."

"I'm not going on vacation, Mr. Stark. I'm going there to retrieve some important documents."

"Huh. Well… Maybe this is none of my business but… Can't you send someone else? I mean… I'm all for political correctness but shouldn't you send someone, uh, less, uh, conspicuous?" Fury ignored him. "Have it your way, then." Then, like a kid afflicted with ADD, Stark jumped to a different topic, "Hey, do I get access to SHIELD's funds?"

Fury looked up cautiously.

"Now, why would you ask that?"

"Well, it's only natural -"

Fury slowly rose to his feet.

"Mr. Stark," he said. "You are not –I repeat- you are NOT to use SHIELD for your own personal profit." He leant forward and, in his most menacing tone, added, "Do I make myself clear?"

Men far stronger and meaner than Stark had cowered and withered in fear at the sight of Nick Fury in a pissed-off mode, but Stark didn't even blink. Instead, he leant forward too, his face only a few inches away from Fury's.

"Mr. Fury, I'm the 30th richest man in the world. I don't need a -"

"And since we're talking finances," Fury cut in, "SHIELD's not gonna cover the expenses incurred by you during the capture of The Crimson Dynamo."

Stark faltered for the first time.

"Wait, what?"

"Stark, you nearly destroyed the Raphael Museum! The report shows undue force!"

"It was the Dynamo! What was I supposed to do –try and reason with him? Of course things had to get broken!"

"You ripped off the museum's cupola!"

"To pin down the Dynamo! Didn't you see it? Even The Times agreed it was a stroke of genius!"

"That stroke of genius caused the near-destruction of sculptures and dozens of paintings! The restoration alone will cost thousands!"

"Ok, first of all, if it weren't for me, there'd be no paintings to restore, or a museum to put them in, in the first place. Hell, without me, there'd be no Manhattan anymore! And those were _my _paintings; I'd lend them to the gallery. I'm the injured party, here!"

Stark's indignation didn't impress Fury.

"If they're yours, then they must be heavily insured." He fixed his eye on Stark. 'Don't give me any crap,' the look said, and it worked.

Stark backed down.

Fury enjoyed his triumph immensely. "Consider yourself notified, then," he said; "From now on, you wreck it, you pay it."

Stark crossed his arms.

"And is that applicable to all of us, or only to those who can afford it? 'Cause Cap's still waiting for the Army to approve pension payments, and Bruce Banner has enough debts as it is. And they cause as much wreckage as me," he added pointedly.

Fury pretended not to hear.

"Let's get down to business, Mr. Stark. As head of SHIELD, you are expected to -" and he'd gone into a long speech on what being Head Director entailed. He'd paced about the room, pointing and explaining, until he noticed the glassy-eyed look on Stark. "You're not listening."

"Sure, I am," Stark said perkily. "Relax, Mr. Fury; I can handle this. I know the guys, the guys know me; I'm the CEO of one of the biggest, most successful companies in the world..." All of which was true and should have put Fury's fears at rest, except that Stark had added, "I'm the cool Exec with the heart of steel," a line from a song about him. He'd frowned then. "You know, the lyrics aren't bad but the music's too cartoony; I'll get Hans Zimmer to look into it." He lit up, "Hey, I can get him to write a song for you, if you want. Some updated version of Shaft, I suppose -"

It was at that point Fury decided he'd had enough. He picked some documents and started cramming them into a briefcase

"I'm leaving in two, Mr. Stark. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Can I bring a chief from the Stark Enterprises cafeteria?"

Fury took a deep breath.

"Stark. I expect you to take this assignment seriously. I do not –I repeat- I do NOT want to return only to find out that you've been out carousing with Thor -"

"What are you talking about? We haven't caroused in, what, six months -"

"Or that you've impregnated half the female staff -"

"Now, that's uncalled for! I've been in a serious relationship for, what, five months…?" And damn if he didn't use his fingers to count the months! Then he shook his head as if he couldn't quite get the months to add up. "Anyway, those stories about me getting women pregnant with one look are just a myth. A very flattering myth, but -"

"Mr. Stark -"

"I mean, where's the fun in that?" He'd looked at Fury for an answer, but whatever he saw on Fury's face was enough to sober him up. "Ok, ok," he said, in a placating manner. "I promise I won't look at your female agents. Happy?" No response. "Ooookaaaay," he said slowly. For a second it looked like he'd realized he might have gone too far, and then the next he lit up. "Hey, are you gonna be in contact with the Americans? 'Cause if you are, then maybe you could talk to my dad."

"I won't have any time for chitchat, Mr. Stark."

"Just a phone call," Stark said earnestly; "Just to let him know one day he's gonna have a son who -"

"Absolutely not! Any such conversation would alter the past!"

"But isn't the mere fact that you're going back enough to cause an alteration?"

Fury didn't bother with a reply. He closed his briefcase and then stepped around his desk. He faced Tony Stark.

"Well, Mr. Stark. You're in charge then."

"I'll do my best," Stark said solemnly.

Fury merely grunted. He didn't believe that for a minute.

Stark's last words to him were, "Have a nice trip," and truth to be told, Fury had enjoyed his trip. Danger suited him. He lived for this. He… lived for SHIELD -which explained why he was hurrying to his quarters instead of staying back for observation. His worst fears were resurfacing. What if Stark had fallen off the wagon in his absence? What if he and Thor -and Hawkeye!- what if they'd gone out for a drink? Last time it happened, they'd ended up partying for three whole days.

Not that getting drunk was the worst thing that could happen. A drunken Stark could be annoying, but a depressive Stark was downright destructive. The guy's dark moods were scary. He seemed to be in control now, but what if…?

By the time Fury burst out of the elevator, he was prepared for the worst news to hit him.

His heart sank when he didn't see Maria Hill at her post. She was never absent! More strange still, there was a flower pot on her desk too –a flower pot! The plant in it wasn't real, but still –

And then he noticed the walls.

"What the…?" They weren't the original yellow anymore; they were a pale greenish blue. And there was a carpet! 'Just fucking great', Fury thought. Now no one would hear the thread of the enemy's steps as they burst into their quarters!

Not that the enemy could get into their quarters without being detected by their security system, but still -

Something else caught his attention then: a new smell. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from somewhere down the hall. Warm and seductive, it seemed to entice him into dropping his guns and go sit at a balcony and forget all the cares in the world -

Fury had to shake his head in order to break the spell.

"Damn you, Stark," he growled, and he drew his gun. Hopefully, he'd catch Stark in the act with some female agent. He'd give Stark such a scare, the life would wilt out of that pampered, son of a bitch!

Determinedly, Fury barged into his office and saw -

Tony Stark, sitting at the desk, surrounded by screens and computer equipment, his hands moving feverishly over a keyboard.

He had a headset, and he was talking into the mic.

"Yeah, you do it, then. Thanks, Rhodey. Bye." Stark sat back on his chair –a new, Executive type chair that looked big and comfortable enough to sleep in, though it didn't really look like Stark had slept much lately.

"Stark! Where's my Assistant?"

"Well, good day to you too, Mr. Fury. Welcome back." He sat back. How was your trip? Met any Morlocks?"

"Where is -"

Stark raised a hand. "Ms Hill wasn't feeling well, so I gave her the day off."

"Not feeling well? Why?" Fury banged his fist the desk, "What the hell did you do to her?"

Stark was mystified. "What do you mean what the hell did I do to her? I told you, I gave her the day off. I sent her to a spa, and -"

"You sent her on a mission?"

"No, not a mission! I gave her a gift certificate, so she could -" he paused. He could tell Fury didn't understand what was going on. "Ok, look; she said she hadn't had a vacation in years, so I thought I'd do something nice for her. Women love to be pampered, Mr. Fury. She's a woman, you know," he added sardonically.

"And you act like one," Fury said spitefully; "You changed the colors on the walls and you brought a rug."

Stark wasn't offended.

"I also installed coffee makers in each work station," he added. "Guys like to be pampered too, Mr. Fury –just ask Dugan; he picked the coffee blends himself. And if you're worried about the cost, don't be; I put everything on my tab -speaking of which, I got my accountants to check on SHIELD's books."

"Wait, what? I didn't say you could do that!"

"They found a couple of discrepancies there, by the way. Nothing huge," he added, "Just the kind of thing that snowballs if unchecked. They're ok now."

"The books are encrypted! No one but me could have -"

But Stark had already moved on.

"I got the Signal Tracker started, by the way."

"Signal Tracker?"

"The one you said you needed to track down A.I.M. transmissions."

Fury started. "A.I.M.? You mean we can really track them down?"

"Loud and clear," Stark said casually. "As for the IRVING-"

"The what?"

"The In-flight Refit Vehicle with Interactive Neuro-mimetic Gear," Stark said matter-of-factly. "You said you wanted a device that'd help your agents change gear without having to return to base, remember?" He tilted his head at the screen in front of him. "I'm putting the finishing touches on the prototype."

Fury raised an eyebrow. Did Tony Stark take note of every little thing he said...? Apparently, yes. And then, like some kind of genie, he granted Nick Fury's every wish.

A bit unsettled, Fury put his briefcase on the desk, and Stark took this as a silent request to get his ass out of the chair, which he did.

Fury sat and noticed how comfortable the chair felt.

Meanwhile, Stark was looking appraisingly at him. "So, the time traveler's back. Did you get to kick Adolph's butt? No, I know," he added before Fury could reply; "That would have altered the past. What about your documents? Did you get 'em?"

"Yes, " Fury said succinctly. It was his turn to appraise Stark. "So, Mr. Stark; I take it you didn't go out with the boys. I'm impressed."

"Oh, well. Sad to say, I can't keep up with those guys. Can't compete with the genetically enhanced crowd, you know." He hesitated, then added, "But my days of partying were coming to an end, anyway."

"Were they?"

"Yeah." Stark shrugged sheepishly; "The girlfriend and I have been talking and, well, we'll try for a baby."

"Girlfriend? You're talking about Miss Potts, right?"

"Of course."

That woman was a saint, in Fury's opinion. Or a masochist, more likely. "Strong woman," was all he said.

Tony shrugged. "What can I say? She completes me."

It has to be pointed out here that Nick Fury rarely watched TV and never went to the movies, which explains why he didn't throw up at Stark's use of that phrase.

Fury was actually –reluctantly- impressed.

"Well. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"And... It looks like you did a good job here, Stark."

"Thought you'd find the place in shambles, didn't you?" Stark said, still pleased with himself. He leant on the desk. "I guess this is a good time to let you know I'm not angling for your job Mr. Fury."

Fury stared back impassively, but inside he was reeling. Damn! The guy had read him only too well. It was true; there was only one man who had the ambition and the know-how to replace him and/or render him obsolete: Tony Stark. He knew it, and maybe others knew it as well. Bergen, for instance -

But he didn't dwell on this; instead, he calmly opened a drawer and dropped his gun in it. He looked up.

"Well, Mr. Stark," he said in a business-like manner. "I gather you're anxious to return to your company."

"Yes, I am."

"Then you may go. I'm glad everything worked out fine," he added. That was the closest thing to a 'thank you' Stark was going to get.

The words made Stark hesitate.

"Not everything."

"What?"

"Not everything worked out fine. I wasn't gonna tell you, but you're gonna find out anyway, so... "

"What!"

"Well, there was an incident yesterday afternoon. What you might call a wardrobe malfunction."

Fury, who'd only heard that phrase in connection with the Janeth Jackson incident, immediately jumped to conclusions.

He closed his eye.

"Please, don't tell me Agent Romanoff flashed a boob during the Royals' visit!"

"Of course not. That outfit of hers must have some sort of steel reinforcement. I guess," he added, because fury was looking suspiciously at him.

"Just tell me what happened."

"Ok. Look. I asked Reid Richards to come up with an outfit for Bruce Banner. I figured Mr. Fantastic clothes would stretch so Bruce wouldn't have to run around half-naked every time he turns into Hulk."

"I see," Fury said cautiously. It was actually a good idea, though he wasn't about to say so.

"Reid said he'd try and replicate his own uniform. He was testing some trousers on Bruce down at the lab when we got news that The Abomination was wrecking Manhattan. Well, you know Bruce; he burst out of the building as soon as he found out, and -"

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"He's a friend, Mr. Fury; I can't pulverize a friend. And you said you wanted The Abomination captured alive; Hulk's the only one who can do that -which he did, by the way." 'You're welcome,' the tone seemed to imply, but Fury ignored him.

"And the wardrobe malfunction -"

"It happened in Times Square. Bruce's pants disintegrated in a matter of seconds. We already had The Abomination in custody so it didn't really matter, but -"

Fury closed his eye again. "You're telling me The Hulk stood naked in Times Square until he got back to his normal size?"

"Of course not! Richards was a good sport; he quickly stretched himself over Hulk's, hum, privates -you know, like a giant thong- and kept him covered till he got back to normal. Of course, it'll be a long time before those two will even want to look at each other again, so I've cancelled the project for now."

Fury took a deep breath. Ah, what the hell. All things considered, it wasn't as bad as he thought. With all these superheroes, it was a miracle Earth hadn't been fried a dozen times over yet.

"It could have been worse," he said quietly.

Stark did a double take. He obviously didn't expect such a calm reaction from Fury.

"Good thinking," Stark said cautiously. "Well. I'm off then." More confidently, he added, "Got a new suit to build, and babies to make…" He walked to the door, then seemed struck by a new idea. "You know, if all goes well, in a few years there might be a half-dozen little Starks running up and down here. The future of SHIELD, how's that sound?"

Fury glared until the door closed.

Lots of Starks –yeah, right.

"If I'm lucky, I'll be dead by then," Fury muttered.

And finally, there was a reason to smile.

* * *

><p>Notes: According to Wikipedia, The Principality of Madripoor is a fictional island located in Southeast Asia in the Marvel Comics universe. It's a "paradise for the idle rich," according to an issue of Tony Stark, Director of SHIELD.<p>

A.I.M., the Signal Tracker, and IRVING are mentioned in Iron Man, the TV series of 1994.


	3. Flawed Heroes

Flawed heroes 

I didn't much care for Avengers, but now I'm all fired up. I haven't seen the trailers, (I don't wanna spoil myself) but of course I've seen lots of scenes and GIFs. The actors look great -there's a lot of chemistry there.

Anyway, this story's more about friendship than humor.

* * *

><p>Tony Stark burst into SHIELD's headquarters late on a Saturday evening, grim-faced and determined, pushing past young agents who tentatively greeted him and who, when ignored, cleared the hallway for him. The ones that didn't move, remained in front of a large TV screen, watching footage from a recent tragedy. Tony paused only long enough to see a male reporter pointing at scenes of wreckage in the background. "…Despite the presence of Captain America and others," he said, "Dozens of lives were lost." He looked into the camera. "As we contemplate the aftermath of this latest battle, we cannot help but wonder: How long before all of us succumb to the foes of these so-called heroes?"<p>

"Oh, crap," Tony mumbled. "_Our_ foes?"

_Damn reporters. _Always looking at the downside. That reporter in particular had turned the public against them on more than one occasion, and while Tony was used to it, there were others who were still new at this. Some of them might be too sensitive for their own good.

Thinking of this, Tony made a beeline to the rec room, where he was sure to find at least one of his colleagues. Thor and Spiderman were there, looking exhausted in their torn, dirty outfits. Spiderman, too tired even to remove his mask, had merely raised it so he could drink his Doctor Pepper. Thor was just as subdued, pouring himself some beer. Later on he might drink directly from the keg, but for now, he was using a glass, and he raised it when he saw Tony.

"Greetings, Iron Man; your assistance was badly needed today."

Tony looked wistfully at the glass, then forced himself to look at Peter.

"Where's Rogers?"

"He doesn't want to talk, Tony."

"Yeah. I know. Is he in his room?"

"I'm serious. He feels terrible about what happened."

"I know. What about the conference room? Is he there?"

"Tony -" Spidey half-rose from his seat but Thor motioned him back.

"Let him be," Thor said quietly. To Tony, he said, "He is in the gymnasium."

...

Rogers was in the gym like Thor said, punching a heavy bag, venting his anger on it. He didn't acknowledge Tony, but a slight pause between punches made it obvious he knew someone had come in.

Tony strolled in.

"Hey, Steve," he said casually.

Steve didn't respond. Instead, he threw a couple of merciless punches.

Tony winced. "Ouch. Find someone your own size, why don't you." He watched Steve for a moment, then decided to take the direct route. "I heard about the train crash," he said. "Wanna talk about it?"

Steve was too polite to stay mum for long.

"No."

"No? Really? You sure?"

"I don't want to talk to _you_."

"Oh. So, it's personal."

Steve glanced at him, noticed the suit Tony was wearing, then looked away.

"Yeah," Tony said. "I was at a party. You got a problem with that?"

"I don't care what you do." More jabs.

"Good. Then let's talk about what's pissing you off."

"There's nothing -"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said dismissively. "I know; you're only punching the stuffing off that bag because you're content with the way things turned out today." He paused, but got no response from Rogers. "Ok, look. If you don't wanna talk about that, then that's ok. Let's talk about something else. Me, for instance. Why don't you wanna talk to me?"

Steve took a deep, exasperated breath. He punched the bag, then steadied it with both hands.

"Because you're so damn glib about everything."

"Glib?"

"Yeah. You think this is just a little inconvenience, don't you? You think if I get drunk I'm gonna forget what happened."

Tony raised an eyebrow. Getting Rogers drunk had never occurred to him, but now he considered the possibilities.

"Mmmh, no," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think that would work with you."

Ironically, agreeing with Rogers only pissed him off more.

"You don't know what might work with me. You don't know me."

"You're right," Tony said. "I don't. But I know what you're going though."

Steve didn't reply. Instead, he started unlacing his gloves –clumsily, with his teeth.

Tony sensibly refrained from offering help.

"Boxing's over?"

Steve threw the gloves in a corner and started to walk away.

Tony smiled. "You do know I'm just gonna follow you into the showers, right?"

"Leave me alone, Stark."

"Sure. After I've said what I have to say."

Steve glanced over his shoulder. "If it's about that train -"

"Of course, it is."

"Then save it. Nothing you say's gonna make me feel better."

"You don't know that. Come on," he put a hand on Steve's shoulder. It was meant as a friendly gesture, but Rogers pointedly pulled away.

"Hey, take it easy," Tony said good-naturedly. "Come on," and he reached for Rogers again.

"Get your hands off me," Steve said. There was a real warning in those words.

Tony snorted. "What?"

"I said get your hands off me," Steve said, angrily this time; "Why are you so friendly all of a sudden, anyway? You've kept your distance ever since I came here!"

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he set out to tease Steve. Mimicking Hulk's tone, he said, "Oh, no touch Captain America. Only gods touch Captain America-"

Steve flushed. "Tony, I swear -"

"Thor ok; Odin ok. But no Iron Man. Iron Man soils Captain America's shirt!"

Exasperated, Steve started to turn, but Tony deftly blocked him.

Steve took a deep breath. "Back off Stark, or -"

Tony ignored the warning. "Here," he said, and he started tugging at Rogers' shirt, pulling the young man in all directions. "See? I can touch Captain America; I bet I can even -" But he never got to finish. It was his own damn fault: He saw Steve's fist rise, he saw it coming, yet he didn't move. He was confident Steve would pull back at the last moment.

He didn't. Steve's fist landed on his face, and the last thing Tony saw before staggering back was Steve, looking as incredulous as he himself felt.

...

Tony blinked his eyes open. Once the stars cleared, he saw the white ceiling, and then Steve's face.

"Tony? Are you all right?"

Tony didn't immediately reply. He wasn't sure he knew the answer to that. He knew he'd been pummeled, but that was ok; he got pummeled all the time -except that he usually got pummeled while wearing his armor, and he was most definitely NOT wearing his armor right now.

_Oh, shit._

He remembered then. Alarmed, he gingerly raised his hand and, after a couple of misses, he managed to touch his nose._ Ow._

No wonder Steve looked horrified. "Are you ok?"

Tony glared. "No, I'm not ok, you moron! You punched me!"

"I thought you were gonna move! Why didn't you fucking move?"

"I didn't know you were gonna hit me for real! Where's your self-control for God's sake? Even Banner held it together longer than you! How -" He did a double take. "Did you just say, 'fucking?'"

"N-no."

"Yes, you did." Tony wanted to smirk, but his facial muscles wouldn't obey. Defeated, he lay back and closed his eyes. "I forgive you, then. Now, let me die in peace."

Rogers left him then. From the sounds he was making, Tony deduced he'd gone to fetch some ice. Tony opened one eye and saw Steve rushing back with a towel. Rogers fell on his knees again and gently pressed the towel on Tony's face.

Tony groaned in relief. The cold felt good. After a moment, he took the towel from Steve and held it on his nose.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, "I truly am."

"Save it for the courts, Rogers. I'm gonna sue your ass."

Steve didn't seem to take that seriously. The son of a bitch even smiled!

"I don't have any money," he said. "And I didn't hit you that hard."

"It's the principle of the thing. Oh, and anything you saw will be used against you, by the way." Tony lowered the towel and glared again. "Well? You're gonna help me, or are you gonna let me lie down here?"

Steve helped him sit, then carefully dragged him to a nearby couch so he could rest against it.

"You ok?"

Tony nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. You were right; you didn't punch me that hard."

"I'm sorry."

Tony stared at him. He did _look_ sorry at least.

"How do you feel now?"

Steve shook his head.

"I feel like…"

"Shit?"

"Hell," Steve said. Reluctantly, he added, "I feel better."

Tony smiled smugly. Even a throbbing nose wouldn't rob him of his triumph.

"I knew you would. The worst you can do is keeping your anger all bottled-up, Rogers; focusing it on something –or someone- helps."

Rogers rubbed his forehead. He looked tired, all of a sudden.

"I can't believe you did this."

Tony shrugged modestly. "It worked."

Steve hesitated, then he sat on the floor, next to Tony.

"You let Banner punch you?"

"Nah. I ducked just in time and then ran like hell. Thor's hammer on the other hand did a lot of damage to my car. He did pay for the repairs, though."

They were silent a moment.

"You're right," Tony said quietly. "I haven't been friendly. I don't know why. You're one of the good guys; it should be easy." He hesitated. "Good guys with flaws I have no trouble with."

"Like Banner," Steve said.

"Like Banner. But you're… you're just…" he waved a hand in a vague way.

Steve smiled uncomfortably. "Self-righteous," he said.

"Nah, I wouldn't call you that," Tony said, "But yeah. Sort of."

"I'm only trying to do right," Steve said quietly.

"I know."

"It's all I ever wanted -"

"Yes."

Steve gulped. "But I failed."

Tony sighed.

"Rogers, there's something you've got to know. It's something we've all got to learn, sooner or later -sometimes the hard way," he added, almost to himself.

"What's that?"

"You can't save everybody."

"I don't accept that. If we can't save everybody, there'd be no point in having these powers."

"No, Rogers; the point is, you get to save a few lives at least. We're not gods –well, except for Thor, and even he's been known to screw up. It's like you said: you're trying to do right. We all do. But we're flawed; we make mistakes. Sometimes, we mess up so badly, we…" He let the word trail off. "My point is, no matter what, we've got to go on."

Steve took a deep breath.

"Listen, Steve. There's a reason you're here. The group needs someone to look up to; someone like you."

"What about you?" Steve said. "They look up to you too."

"Yeah, and I'm sick of it." Tony started to get up but couldn't make it. Steve immediately rose and offered him a hand. Tony hesitated, then took it. Once he was standing, he let go of Steve's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a party to go to." More likely, the infirmary.

Steve let him reach the door before he spoke.

"Tony… If you ever feel like punching someone… I'll be right here."

Tony paused by the door. He almost turned, then. He almost spoke, only there were too many things to say, ("thanks" or "how about right now?"), and he knew that if he started, he'd find it difficult to stop.

It was easier not to say anything.

* * *

><p>The end<p> 


	4. Proof

Proof

Note: spoilers for Iron Man 2. This is a take on the "you're my greatest creation," scene. I didn't include the actual speech from Tony's father because it would have meant having to watch the movie again, and I'm not ready to do that yet. I loved RDJ in it and the final battle too, but there was other stuff that I really hated. My blu ray copy's still sealed.

Anyway… This is what happened just before Nick Fury brought Tony a box of stuff that originally belonged to Howard Stark. (And why Fury didn't make it available before is one of the things that keep bugging me).

Technically, this is not an Avengers story but it's got people from SHIELD, so...

* * *

><p>There were three people in the darkened laboratory. Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD; Natalia Romanova, one of his best agents, and, sitting at a console, Agent Peterson, his best analyst.<p>

"The tapes have aged well," Peterson said. "There was very little to restore. As to their content… I believe this is the one tape you might get something useful from."

Fury and Romanova moved behind Peterson.

"Look." Peterson punched a button, and an image appeared on a screen. In crisp black and white, it showed a dark-haired man in the throes of alcoholism, pacing and mumbling incoherently

Nick Fury muttered, "Ladies and gentlemen, meet Howard Stark, National Hero."

Agent Romanova leant over to take a closer look. "Like father, like son." She watched with growing impatience. "The man was an alcoholic; how is that supposed to help us now?"

"Give it a minute," Peterson said calmly.

Suddenly, Stark turned and looked directly into the camera. He didn't look or sound drunk anymore.

"Stranger. It's my hope that this message will reach you in the not-too-distant future."

"This might be it, people," Fury said.

They silently watched Howard Stark speak of possibilities and dreams, and of his hope that some day someone might realize what he could only dream of.

"He's only hinting at something," Natalie said, "We still don't have an answer to Stark's problem."

"Well, this is all we got," Fury said. "Stark might find something in it. He's the genius, after all. Peterson? I'm gonna need a few changes in that tape. It's gotta be seamless –otherwise Tony Stark will notice."

"What do you want me to do?"

Fury was silent for a moment. "For starters, I want you to make it sound like Howard's addressing his son."

Peterson worked silently for a couple of minutes, then rolled the tape again.

Fury nodded in approval.

Peterson looked back at the screen. "I could move this part of the tape to the beginning -"

"No. That would be suspicious. Leave it at the end, just like Howard intended."

Natalie looked up. "What if Stark doesn't watch through to the end?"

"He will," Fury said. "These tapes are his only connection to his father." He was silent for a moment, then, "Peterson, do me a favor. Construct a scene for me. Have Howard say, at the very end, 'You're my greatest creation'."

Natalie's eyebrows shot up. "Is that wise? Tony Stark already thinks he's God's greatest creation."

Fury shook his head. "That's bravado, Natalia."

"Even so, his father never said -"

"No, that cold son of a bitch never did. But I have a feeling this is exactly what Stark needs to hear." He looked at her, "It's just another little lie, Natalia; and it might save a soul, for a change." To Peterson. "Bring the tapes to my office as soon as they're ready. I'm leaving in two." And with that, he turned and left.

As soon as the doors were closed, Peterson ventured a comment.

"Well, well," he said. "If that doesn't prove Nick Fury's got a heart, I don't know what will." Then he sheepishly went back to work because Natalie had shot him a look that said no one made personal comments about their boss while she was around.

* * *

><p>The end<p> 


End file.
